I live only a stone's throw from Glacier National Park. I love to hike and explore the out of doors. I've been teaching creative writing at Flathead Valley Community College for 32 years, and I still like my job. I have six books of poems published. My seventh book, Or Maybe I Drift Off Alone, is looking for a publisher.

The Giant Octopus

An octopus— almost entirely squishy soft tissue — can squeeze into impossibly small spaces,a factoid offered by the marine biologistas an almost plausible explanationhow the coastal aquarium’s favorite attractionhad slipped the bonds of its keepers.

Must have discovered how to nudge the lidof its glass confinementenough to probe one tentacle at a timefor a determined toehold in open air.

Must have hid like a rumpled dishragin a dark corneroutside the night custodian’s view.

Must have heard the ocean in the drain pipeand slithered through.

A story worth telling, says the marine biologist.Funny, how people are so convincingly disappointed the aquarium’s only giant octopushas gone AWOL, he says.

Even more curious, is how this storymakes even grumpy people smile, something in us cheering a desperate primitive instinctdoing as it must to find its way home.

​Mechanical Marvel

Stopped behind a long line of cars and truckswhile road crews clear a rockslide. Turn off the engine. Sit and consider awhilethis old car, faithful mechanical marvelhaving carried you uphill and down,so many ruts, so many backroads, so manyhard-earned miles over so many seasons.

Battered, faded, bent at the fenders a bitas you are, too. But your vitals, say the gauges on the dash,persist in the zone where they should be.The intricate guts still grinding fuel into motion.At the heart, tappets still ticking, though under pressuremore so now than when you first drove itoff the sales lot. And, yes, less luster.

But lasting, lasting. And that’s the point,isn’t it? To continue powering ahead,steering around the next blind curve, still chasingto cross another far and fetching horizon. So let’spraise this weathered chassis, these somewhat rusted bones, the low groan of bad knees and stiffenedsuspension. Give yourself this idle hour to doze,

to savor well-deserved repose. Let your valves cool,look around and assess the depth of your tread. Turnthe key again in the ignition when the flaggersignals the wait has ended. Give it a little gasjust to wake the pistons, feel the crank rev. It’s still your handon the gearshift, and the shift knob knows it. You’re both still road-worthy, both ready to engage the clutch and go.